


Cuts Through Curses

by ExtraPenguin



Category: Diese kalte Nacht - Faun (Song), Original Work
Genre: F/M, Fairy Tale Curses, Fairy Tale Style, Magic, Winter, magical transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 12:52:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11036556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExtraPenguin/pseuds/ExtraPenguin
Summary: He was a traveller from faraway lands, searching for a rarity. If he ever found what he sought, he would be immensely fortunate.





	Cuts Through Curses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quillori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillori/gifts).



> [Link to song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zr8d9sXioj4).  
> [Lyrics & translation](http://lignota.livejournal.com/1040387.html).
> 
> With thanks to my beta airotkiv.

Even steel went brittle with the cold.

The North wind swept the snowy valleys, lifting snowflakes from beneath the surface hoar and depositing them downwind. The snow squeaked beneath his feet. The cold bit his cheeks and threatened to freeze his eyelashes together.

He had heard that salvation from fate was this way. “A day’s walk from this village towards the next, then at the bottom of the coldest valley, turn left and walk to the middle of the forest,” the old woman had said, then muttered an oath under her breath, trying to cleanse her soul from the words’ taint, or whatever the locals believed. He had thanked her, all the same. He was a traveller from faraway lands, searching for a rarity. If he ever found what he sought, he would be immensely fortunate.

His breath left rime behind on his travelling jacket. As he descended down the slope, the air’s bite grew stronger. He supposed it was a day’s journey from the village for a normal human. The valley certainly was colder than the uplands before it, despite being sheltered from the wind. The powdery snow, tossed over the brink and pulled downhill, slowed his progress. A few times, he misjudged and trudged along a cornice that collapsed beneath him, but the crustless snowbanks cushioned his fall.

 

The days here were short, but the rise of the moon – almost full – was almost as good as a proper dawn. The remnants of a path through the forest beckoned him.

Unlike every other forest, this one was colder than its surroundings. He walked forth in a silence broken only by the sounds of him sinking into the soft snow with every footstep. Occasionally, he would brush against a spruce’s branch and send falling some of the looser snow balanced upon the needles. The dead, needle-less lower branches were mainly host to frosted-over beard moss.

The trees grew slightly sparser and the buried undergrowth denser before they both suddenly ended and changed to a clearing encircled by snowdrifts. Man-made, then left to the elements, just like the iron cage in the middle.

He clambered over the snowbank, then walked the dozen paces to the cage and sank to his knees.

“And here I was, thinking I would be left alone,” the cage’s inhabitant said. She was as pale as the snow around her, sharp-featured and austere. “What brings you here, boy?”

“The love of life,” he answered. When forging permanent bargains with the supernatural, there was no better policy than honesty.

She managed to retain her majesty even as she scoffed. “The love of life? Turn and run, boy, for my touch is the touch of death.”

“Not for me,” he said and held out his bare hand. It was surprisingly delicate, considering what he was, and barely fit through the gaps in the iron bars.

She sighed deeply, but grasped his hand gently. She was an utter and total absence of heat. She was visibly surprised when he did not fall dead on the spot.

“I admit, I am not often intrigued. What are you, if not a mortal? You are not one of my sisters, and you can touch the iron bars without harm.” Her gaze was piercing and her full attention was forceful like a punch to the face.

“The Emperor of a faraway land wished for a sword that would cut through anything and not break with the cold. He bargained with a witch of the volcano, and received a magical sword that could cut through anything and would not break with the cold. For over a decade, he rode point in his wars, slicing through everything in his path, his sword granting him victory over his enemies. His empire expanded, hitting an inhospitable desert on one side and mountains on the other. He chose to conquer the mountains, knowing that his sword would not break with the winter.

“One day, the place where his army had camped in the mountains was cold enough to break steel. On that day, the Emperor discovered that his sword would not break in the cold because in the cold, it turned into a man.” He smiled bitterly. “I escaped through the mountains. I suppose the Emperor’s empire collapsed or shrank. Perhaps he learned not to make deals with witches. I was finally free to be something other than a mute observer in my life.

“I wandered through the mountains, sticking to the coldest regions, which brought me North. Here, the winters let me walk the lowlands. On occasion, I have blundered, and spent a summer as a sword, lying in a hollow, as well as the isolated warm day.

“I heard of winter spirits, around whom it was always cold. I heard that one was imprisoned here. Thus, I came.”

She looked thoughtful. “Do you know why I’m here?”

He shook his head.

“I loved a man, once. I loved him for years, and he loved me back. I was always careful, never touching his bare flesh with mine, but one day at the dusk of winter and dawn of spring, he could restrain himself no longer, and cupped my cheek with his hand.

“He fell down dead, a cold corpse.

“His family was large and came screaming for vengeance. They bound me with the spells of seven spirits of spring and built an iron cage around me.” She huffed. “Silly things, cooperating with mortals against their kind. Was his death not punishment enough for my folly?”

He squeezed her hand. She turned her full regard back to him, intense and awe-inspiring.

“You could cut through everything? What is your hilt made of?”

“My hilt is gold and my blade silver. I should fit through the gap.” He surveyed the snow-covered landscape. “I have matches, but nothing to burn.”

She cleared a circle around him of snow. “Give me your coat so I may wield you.”

He let go of her hand, dug out the matches from his coat pocket, and handed her the coat. The undergrowth and twigs were cold but dry. It took him a few matches to ignite the pile. He lay down with his head against the bars and one hand through them.

The fire took a while to get going, especially in the cold, but eventually it burned hot enough for the magic to tug at him. He melted into a sword, ornate hilt just outside the bars, shimmering in the moonlight. His senses transformed from those of a human to an all-encompassing awareness, letting him sense the wintry tableau of cold shades, broken only by the warm orange fire.

She had wrapped her hand fully in his coat. Still, she hissed with pain when her hand brushed against the iron bars. She pulled him inside, then swung him once high and once low, chopping off a wide swath of iron bar, then used the flat of his blade to press the bars to the side.

Wide opening made, she extinguished the fire with a pile of snow. She then set him down, unwound the coat from around her hand, kneeled above him, and kissed the smoky quartz set into his hilt. The warmth was sucked out of him, and the magic that made him tugged and then yanked him into his human form.

He lay on his back, enthralled at her sitting on his lap.

“The magic of the seven sisters of spring still binds me.” The uncertainty in her voice was at odds with her statement.

“How can it be broken?”

“Seven kisses, mouth to mouth, all from the same man. They thought it – apt.”

He sat up, her still on his lap, cupped her jaw, and slowly kissed her. He could feel the powerful magic relent with a shudder. He paused, then kissed her again, and again, and again, each time feeling the magic’s shudder, until on the seventh time, the magic snapped, making the trees creak and the ground shudder. She grabbed his wrists and pressed him down, then held his hands above his head as she kissed him most thoroughly. He was happy to reciprocate.

She relented her grasp and buried her face in the join of his neck and shoulder. Her cold breath tickled him.

“Your hair is black as night and your eyes a silver grey, but I do not often see browns. What shade is your skin?”

“Cinnamon.”

She licked his neck. “You taste better.” She slowly rose up and pulled him with her. “Come. I know a place where a river meets a forest lake, and you must see it.”

They stepped over the iron bars’ stubs, and walked out through the forest hand in hand, a skosh of snow occasionally falling on them.


End file.
